World Turned Upside Down
by youeitherkillurselforgetkilled
Summary: This is Barbara's journey to becoming Oracle set in the YJ universe. Set about 6 months after Endgame, in between Invasion and Outsiders.
1. Awakening

**A/N: Hey, first fanfic I'm publishing. I know it's shit, but it would mean the world if you gave it a review. As a fan of the batfam, really love YJ season 3. Wish Tim got more screentime tho, but when I saw they made Dick/Babs canon onscreen, I screamed and threw my phone across the room XD. Anyway, this is set in the YJ universe, about Barbara becoming Oracle. I promise to put in more chapters with members of the team, but for now it's just Barb and her dad. **

**IMPORTANT: This is kind of like the Killing Joke, but not the part where Jim Gordon is pushed to the brink of insanity, mostly because I've never read the Killing Joke and never watched the movie (the Bruce/Barbara pairing freaks me out). I didn't really know how to fit into this story. There is a small hint tho.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice, bc if I did Wally would be alive :/**

**Enjoy**

* * *

How did things get here? How, why, what, where, why, how, what, where, what, hoW, WHY?

Simple questions that she desired an answer to but received none.

She remembered waking up, initially relief flooding her systems, and then came the emotions. Confusing, entangling emotions attached to memories that did not match up her environment: a comfortable mattress that threatened to swallow her whole, muscles that ached which seemed to connect with the somewhat horrible yet distant feeling that sat at the pit of her stomach, the smell of antiseptics and an unsettling taste in her mouth.

The room was stale, cold, with a blank, faux brightness that filled up the whole room. The light stabbed her eyes, so she kept them shut for a long moment until she made herself assess her situation in her bleary state.

Slowly but surely her eyes opened, taking notice of her dad was sitting next to her in what appeared to be his work clothes. He was dozing off, his coat as a makeshift blanket on top of him giving the impression that he could have been there for years, waiting.

Oh, wait a minute, a hospital. This was a hospital. Right?

"Dad?" she managed to get out and he looked up straight away, jumping out of his chair and throwing his trench coat to the ground, his face full of relief that did not register with her at all.

"Oh, Barbara, how- how do you feel pumpkin?" he asked slow and gentile, crouched low beside her.

He looked tired, as always, but even more so then. Strangely enough, she felt relief too at the sight of him. Something happened right before she fell unconscious.

Something to do with her dad's safety.

"Water"

"Yeah- yeah, of course." He muttered, swiveling around in a frantic kind of way. Pained muscles prevented her from moving any further, and the simple task of moving her mouth and turning her head to look around was almost overwhelming.

And then the delayed memories decided to make their appearance. She closed her eyes in frustration, remembering the why, the how, the when, the what, the who.

Who?

Her and the Joker.

How?

He caught her unawares outside of Gotham University, only to pull out a pistol from his trench coat.

What?

He shot her in the gut. Point blank.

The when-

how long was she out for?

"Do you remember anything Barbara?" he asked, gently cupping her chin and helping her take a sip of water from a plastic bottle. She hadn't realized how badly she needed the water to refresh her mind, and now the flashbacks were returning in sharp definition. But she willed herself to push them back. Not yet, she wouldn't confront whatever happened just yet, not until she could gain a profounder sense of being. It was all too much to remember, too much for her disoriented, half- drugged state of mind.

The door swung open revealing a nurse in scrubs. She stopped short at the sight of an awakened Barbara.

"Oh good, you're awake. How are you feeling hon? Can you speak, or are you too tired right now?" The nurse asked in a barrage of questions.

Her dad opened his mouth to answer but much to his surprise, she managed to croak out," Yeah, I think so."

"I'm gonna get the doctor, I'll be back in a minute, mkay? Sit tight, there's a lot that needs to be done." And with that, she exited the room.

"The Joker, do you remember what happened, at all?" her dad turned to face her. He peered intently through his glasses as if this was just him at work, questioning a witness or intimidating a criminal. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference, and sometimes her dad never really left work. Distant memories of her divulging all her little "crimes" as a kid resurfaced. All he needed to do was tilt his head knowingly and she would fess up immediately to staying out after school, or as he called it, "sneaking out."

But over time, as he taught her how to defend herself and she became an ace at lying, security became less lax.

"I- I think so." She cleared her throat. _Get a grip Barbara,_ she thought sternly,_ you were trained better than this. _Truth be told, she despised feeling helpless, to whatever extent. Ever since a young age she was taught to be alert, aware and prepared. The drugs in her system disoriented her, holding back the formulated thoughts and keeping the fragmented memories in a blender. Until….

Until now...

"I opened the door. It was late, I was heading home." It wasn't cold that night, per se, but it wasn't a a breath of warm air either, as was March in Jersey. Her body ached to get to her apartment and lay down to never wake up again. Her fingers felt disjointed from typing, and her eyes weren't doing her any favors either after a long day of squinting at screens. Most of her friends, including Dick, had left at this point. All of the girls that lived outside of the dorm had left hours earlier. Just her, opening that door.

"He was standing there. Right outside." Deep breath. She stopped short, alarmed at the sight of a strange tall man in a trench coat lurking outside the exit,"and I didn't... react. He just…. Shot me. Pulled out a pistol from his coat."

"He- he knelt down next to me. Whispered something about how he was gonna use this to get to you. He wanted to do something to you." She stared directly into her father's eyes, recalling the _why_ now," He wanted to kill me, to get to you."

Was it a leap? Barbara was all about reaching far-fetched conclusions, that was her job after all. But now that the blender no longer churned, the night, and the Joker's words, came back in crisp definition.

_Nightmarish and haunting, his grotesque expression of pure joy at the pain she felt, the cry she let out that rang synonymously with the sound of a bullet impacting her body burned her way into her brain. She remembered laying in a collapsed heap on the ground, not feeling anything at first. Then the searing pain of flesh. She pulled her hand away from clutching her stomach. Her vision blurred, staring at the hand dipped in a pool of her own blood. The hand that was her own hand. Oh, god she felt nauseous._

_He knelt, his eerie green eyes staring the way she sometimes caught black pelted cats in alleyways with their soulless green eyes staring at her in her costume. In all her time as Batgirl, she'd never seen the Joker this close, the man that was personally responsible for so much chaos and destruction that had personally inflicted their lives._

_In a fit of irony, she remembered joking around and making up creepypastas with Dick about Gotham and its inhabitants in an effort to enliven Jason after a particularly bad day at school. Before Jason's death, when they were young and naïve and considered themselves untouchable._

* * *

_"You haven't actually seen the Joker up close…. right?" murmured Jason from under the blanket fort they erected at Dick's insistence that blanket forts were therapeutic. She assumed he was kidding and waited for Jason to argue with him on this like everything else, but to her surprise he agreed. She supposed there was a little kid in all of them, wanting to build a blanket fort._

_"Of course we have," Dick said sharing a conspiratory glance with her,"__he has green eyes, to match the hair, probably."_

_"Right," she cleared her throat and dropped her voice a half an octave," And get this, y__'know, they say eyes are a window into the soul. But he has no soul."_

_"Quit shitting me," Jason laughed, shoving her and jumbling them all up under the blanket fort, leaving them in a pile of laughter._

* * *

_At one point she stated she had seen the Joker face to face, and that his eyes contained no soul._

_Why did that have to come true?_

_Because looking into the pupils of the man- no, he was no longer a man, no longer human. He had forfeited the right to be considered a living creature. His green irises were merely reflecting the scene surrounding him, not taking anything in. They no longer held the ability to absorb light, the soul within no longer subsisted. It diminished, until he was a shell, a shell of human bent on orderly destruction and chaos._

_"Pumpkin," he started, using her dad's affectionate nickname for her, no longer staring at her but transfixed at the growing pool of blood at her side, "It's nothin' personal. This is to send a message to your daddy, you see." He began playing with her blood, swirling around his pinky in it like it was sand on the beach, "The commissioner is too good at his job, I daresay. He was around even before our dear little Batsy put on his cloak and decided to pick up a sword and fight." She could feel her consciousness ebbing away," I get it, I can see your losing it." He raised his pinky to her face, gently streaking the warm liquid down her cheek, "Send my love to Robin, would ya? The one who strayed a little too far from the nest."_

She hadn't even realized her eyes were closed until her dad put his hand on her shoulder.

"Wait, did he do anything to you. Did he hurt you dad?" she asked, a little alarmed, her eyes wide open now.

"No, he didn't do anything. He sent pictures to the precinct, though. Pictures of you, shot."

"I could've died." she exhaled, leaning back on her dad's lap as he kissed her forehead," but I didn't. What happened exactly?"

"You're so lucky. They thought you wouldn't make it, but you pulled through. But Barbara" He pulled away, concern and what seemed like a hint of- guilt? etched on his face "you should know something."

"What?"

"I'll let the doctors explain it."

"Why can't you? Just tell me, what is it?"

Frustrated at receiving no reply except for a small head shake, she sat up. Or, at least, tried sitting up. Wait, why couldn't she sit up? Trying again to move her hips but to no avail, internal panic began to get the best of her. _Move your legs Barbara_ she commanded in a firm internal voice attempting to hold down the panic spreading through her limbs.

It was so simple, so why wouldn't it happen?

_Wiggle your toes Barbara._

No movement.

_C'mon wiggle your toes._

Nothing.

_Why can'y you wiggle your toes?_

For some reason, the struggle brought tears streaming forth, streaking their way down her cheeks, and then drying up when she was hit head on with a realization.

Stunned, she raised her tear-stained face to her dad, "I can't feel my legs."

He engulfed her in a hug that seemed to say what he couldn't tell her.

And that horrible sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach was finally resolved, and instead the weight of the revelation was descending her deep, deep in the ground until she was freefalling.


	2. Paralyzed Limbs, Paralyzed Mouth

**A/N: Sorry I haven't posted in a while but high school's really kicked me while I'm down. I kinda wish I used the original Killing Joke story arc, where Jim Gordon is tortured by the Joker because now I realize that would have made more sense. But I really like the direction this story is headed in, so it's okay. Once again, just Barb. I promise more members in the next chapter or chapter after that (I want the next chapter dedicated to Barbara and her dad so idk). REVIEWS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED. Even if you leave a review telling me to yeet my laptop and the myself off a cliff, that'd be fine too.**

* * *

The doctor came in. Sandy hair in the process of being whitened, paper-white skin, pale eyes, the first things she noticed. He could have blended in with the hospital walls if he tried. Completely stolid, he informed her in soft tones that he probably practiced in front of the mirror that she was a paraplegic. T12 paraplegic, to be exact. As in, paralyzed, completely, from the waist down. The world didn't stop spinning, and it was moving at light speed with the doctor's words.

"The bullet entered through the abdominal region and entered out the other side…."

Blinking away tears, she tried to comprehend the slush of words that exited his mouth. Never walking, never moving her legs, never again.

"…. very lucky it didn't pierce any vital organs…"

Was she though? She turned her head to the side, staring at the bag of clear liquid, dripping, drip, drip, into an IV. injected into her arm. The numbness in her legs seemed to have spread to her mouth. Her dad studied her, concerned at the lack of attention she displayed.

"…. Shattered the T12 plate of the spinal cord. Significant damage to the thoracic vertebrae…."

The cape and cowl would now be hung up, collecting dust. She couldn't walk, so what use was she exactly to other people? No more Batgirl to save lives. Just paraplegic Barbara.

"Here, hon, I'll prop you up, so you can see better. Is that okay?" the nurse inquired, breaking her spell of detachment.

"Okay" she replied, briefly startled at the brittleness of her own voice.

At her side, the nurse gently pushed up Barbara's head, bowing it forward. Painful cricks developed from how stiff her neck had become, making her wince. Propping up three pillows behind her head she murmured soothingly," Now, I'm gonna move your hips up."

Barbara was at odds. Surely, she could at least move her hips. Maybe her legs wouldn't function entirely but moving her hips should be a minor task, right?

Gingerly, with the nurse's help, she began to shimmy her torso a little, trying to drag up the weight of rest of her body with only the upper half. There was practically no progress until the nurse carefully placed her gloved hands on her abdomen. Barbara stopped writhing uselessly, silently tormented. The little struggle took away her determination.

Jaw set tight, offended at her own lack of resolve, she attempted again. And again, in the most infuriating way possible, _nothing happened at all._

Falling back on the pillows, she let the nurse finish the job. The friendliness of the nurse made no effect on her; she felt just as cold as before.

"We're gonna go over the specifics, we already did with your dad, your stay, recovery, rehab, therapy, the whole thing" the doctor continued in a calm manner, but the changing his tone abruptly. "I understand it's going to be difficult. You're not the first to come in and be diagnosed with this condition. The violence of this city has created, well, your dad knows, a lot of people to care for in this very building."

Barbara finally began paying attention, as if the over excessive sweetness of the nurse made no effect but the realism of the doctors was something she could relate to.

He grinned at her sudden attentiveness, breaking his own perfunctorily demeanor. His bleached white scalp nearly matching the color of his teeth.

She stopped short, fear tying a knot in her chest as his smile grew wider. The smile grew more grotesque, until he was baring a grin that resembled the Joker's.

"Dad?" she whispered, horrified, waving out her arm in an attempt to grab at the familiar feel of her dad's trench coat, unable to peel her eyes away at the growing resemblance the doctor bore to the Joker.

But there was no comforting touch of her dad's hand, no woolen material to grab on to, just emptiness. Where did he go?

Whipping her head around, instead of her dad she encountered darkness. Dark tendrils unlike anything before, darkness that did not resemble the night that shrouded Gotham on patrol, darkness that seemed to want to swallow her conscious, her very being. The whole hospital room was devoured by the darkness, as if someone had turned off the lights on earth.

The fear was paralyzing the rest of her body. It became difficult to breathe. Her lungs seemed to have constricted. Turning back around, she faced the doctor. In the doctor's place was someone else. A warped, twisted version of the Clown Prince himself, no longer resembling the doctor in the slightest. Honestly, a nightmarish version of the Joker, already a demon himself, was hard to even glance at. Yet she couldn't take her eyes away.

And wrapped in a head lock with a gun pressed against his head was none other than her father.

"It's okay," he managed to get out, giving her a look that seemed to convey what he couldn't say through the head lock _Get out of here. Run_

"No, no, no, no, no," she whispered, as if that would stop the Joker from pressing the trigger. He was back, he was here to finish the job he came out to do.

"Not today, pumpkin," he drawled, a ghoulish grin smeared on his face. And he pulled the trigger.

BAM

Flinch.

Smoke climbed out of the gun while blood poured out his scalp. Both at a disturbingly steady rate, to the point where she had to look away, unable to stomach the sight of her dad.

Once again, it was like that night. She didn't fight back, or call for help, or even protest. Just let shock overcome her senses.

The Joker let his body slide to the ground. The room encountered a lull, the stillness overwhelming. Suspense crawled up her neck like a spider. The Joker carefully blew away the smoke rising from the muzzle, his countenance unreadable as always. Inwardly, she was screaming in vengeance, in pain. Outwardly, all she could do was try not to look, trying to erase the picture of the gun and the bullet and her dad going limp and oh god- she squeezed her eyes shut.

Hearing him cock the gun, positive he was aiming the same revolver at her, now wondering nothing at all.

She opened her eyes with the sound of a deafening BANG.

* * *

"Barbara...? Barbara? Barb- honey, Barb?" a familiar voice begged while a calloused hand shook her bare shoulder almost frantically.

Wrapped in a fierce embrace of blankets and hit by bright lights, she willed herself to open her eyes. It wasn't real, realizing this as the world stopped spinning and the hospital room came into greater focus.

_It didn't happen_ she thought, _It was a dream_. Her body didn't seem to get the memo though because her teeth wouldn't unclench and her hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Are you okay Barb?" her dad asked tenderly, disentangling himself from her. She didn't want him to move at all, so sure that he might still be dead, and she might be dead soon as well. More than that, she wanted to hug him, confirm that this was all real. That it was truly him standing there, concern etched on his face instead of blood. And if this was real...

If this was real, that would mean... she glanced noticeably at her legs, draped by the white sheets. For some odd reason, she didn't mind that they were obscured from view; afraid somehow that seeing her unresponsive limbs would only sink her melancholy further.

"You, fell into shock- when you found out. D'you remember that?" he continued gently after receiving no response, "you passed out. I heard you moaning, saying stuff in your sleep, and you need to tell me Barbara, what's going on. How can I help you?" he finished almost pleadingly. Deliberately leaving out pieces of this story that screamed out at him, leaving out bits if the story that he knew, but abstained from saying, knowing that this was not the time. Barbara needed a dad right now, not a detective.

He took off his glasses wiping them over and over, pondering. Then when was the right time?

"There's nothing you can do to help me" she finally whispered, wondering when she would wake up from the nightmare she was living right now.


	3. Numb Days

**A/N: It's been like months since I last posted, I am so sorry. I was going through some personal issues that unfortunately lasted a whole frickin 6 months or so, but am proud to present chapter 3. Also, the Batfamily's finally getting the attention they deserve in season 3b and I'm all here for it. **

**This chapter is meant to represent Barbara's plunge into depression. I did tons of research that for this fic which is another reason why it took so long.**

* * *

She wasn't allowed visitors until she was stable. Two days of swimming in and out of consciousness and the barrage of tests and constant spouting of medical terms that supposedly explained every phenomenon in her body. Under better circumstances, she would have attempted to grasp the meaning of every word, try to analyze the root to make sense or simply research it. After all, she did have a considerable amount of knowledge of human anatomy in her line of work. Even the little things, like identifying specific veins were vital in a fight. But she just didn't have the energy. Getting shot in the stomach did that to you.

But she yearned to see someone, _anyone_, besides strangers. Her dad was there, balancing his hunt for the Joker and her, but she felt cut off. Anxiety under the guise of questions was flung at her.

_Am I real? This is not some psychic sim, right? A crude prank? Does the Team know? I can't be Batgirl anymore, so what am I to them?_

_Will they care?_

Her dad told her Dick, Bruce, Tim and Alfred would be coming today over the phone, held in her unsteady hands ridden with muscle atrophy. The phone clattered to the floor, and she stared at it, wondering if she would even bother picking it up.

No amount of mental preparedness could have kept her together at the sight of what she came to know as her second family.

"Barb?" came Dick's voice at the open entrance. Hovering behind him were the familiar faces of Bruce, Tim, and Alfred that spelled comfort.

She had held it together for this long but fell apart as he concern in Dick's voice reverberated in her mind, setting off tears.

"Dick." She breathed, and then her face contorted into a sob, her sighing gasps turning into cries.

He rushed forward, tossing the assortment of flowers held in his hand aside on the bedside table and then enveloping her in a hug.

They sat like that for what seemed a very long time.

* * *

Whatever she remembered, she explained. Which wasn't a lot, surprisingly. Despite being conscious for two days now, the world was still moving at a dizzying speed. The doctors said it might be a side-affect, fatigue.

"I can't," she rasped," I won't- won't be able to, move anything, lower than my t-12 plate..." Her words trailed off weakly, lost in numb thought. Finally, she gestured to her dad for water and he seemed to get the idea.

Her father cleared his throat and picked up where she left off. Tim, Bruce, and Alfred surrounded her bed, but Dick remained seated at the foot. His hand wrapped around hers was a sharp contrast to the cold ambiance of the hospital.

Surprisingly, her paraplegia garnered no reaction from anyone except for blank, morose expressions. Dick's head was angled away, his expression hidden, but he thoughtfully massaged her feet through the blanket.

Too bad she couldn't feel it.

Tim interrupted briefly," We already know- about the paraplegia, Barb, we visited before this."

Dick shoved him playfully, "How would she know that?"

Tim scratched his head, "Oof. Sorry, I wasn't thinking."

None of them said a word but she knew exactly what they were thinking.

Her time as Batgirl had ended abruptly. This was the end of a chapter, a whole book.

"We're going to find the Joker, no matter what, I've got half the precinct looking for him ever since." her father finished.

"I don't doubt that commissioner," The first words Bruce uttered since he arrived "We did come two days ago to visit, Barbara, but I think your dad told you that."

"So how long did the doctors say it would take to go from here to rehab?" Tim asked, his investigative prowess shining even through his concern.

"Six weeks. I need time to heal they said. And then rehab will take…. four months." Months before she could even think about going home.

"You're strong Miss Gordon," Alfred assured her in the kindest way possible," If there's anyone, anyone who I would believe could persevere through all that, why, it would be you miss."

He rubbed his hands together as if itching to make tea to calm everyone. Alfred made tea almost impulsively, no matter the cause for concern. Difficult case Tim? Tea. Possible gang war Bruce? I'll make tea. Bullet wound? Here's some tea. It was endearing how capable and calm Alfred was until he broke out the tea.

She didn't reply but hoped her watery smile would suffice. Dick rubbed her knuckles, deft hands over her own.

It seemed words had failed everyone.

However, sudden silence is prone to breakage. Her dad's phone went off, citing a new lead that would most likely be cold. It didn't seem to matter to him though. Jim Gordon needed the chance to put the Joker away, for good.

The room seemed to let out a sigh of relief it had been holding when her dad finally left the room. Bruce held his hand up, whispering one word," Bugs?"

Dick and Tim leaped into action, flipping over cushions and underneath tables.

"Did you tell the team what's happened? Everything, the truth?" she demanded.

"Yeah, I mean, they know already. All of them wanted to visit at the exact same time, but I told them to wait till you woke up." Dick looked as though he was attempting to suppress a smile, "Still, a few sneaked in when your dad wasn't here, namely Artemis, Wally, M'gann, Conner, and Zee."

"Creepy," Tim muttered, "Is it okay if we bring some to visit, say in a few days? I mean I don't wanna overwhelm you- it's okay if you don't want anyone here- for some time-" he added.

"No," she closed her eyes briefly. Despite what her dad said about getting used to it, two days later and the hospital lights still felt like they were trying to gouge her eyes out. How was she supposed to stay sane for 6 weeks?

"I actually think company would be nice. Don't want people to think I'm dead anyway," she cracked, but Tim's frown didn't waver.

Bruce cleared his throat, "I've been on the lookout for the Joker for the past few days. No sign. Nothing. Almost like he vanished in thin air. I've had the whole League help me scour areas all around Gotham. We're still on it Barbara…"

"It's not really his MO," Tim continued, rubbing his eyes as if he gave this a great deal of thought already," He has a motive, all the time. And he almost always wants a show, even if he's killing a low-level thug."

"Barb, did- "Dick hesitated, but implored gently," did he say anything to you at all?"

A long silence. She stared him down, her eyes practically begging to dodge the question. He took her hand in his own again and she looked at all their patient faces, awaiting her response.

"Yeah," her voice a hushed monotone," yeah, he did."

He squeezed her hand again, reassuring her that she was no longer stepping out into that restive night. She was here, safe and sound. So _why _couldn't she figure out where to start.

"I don't need to repeat what I did. You know what happened, I'm sure there was cameras outside," her tone was clipped and cold although she wasn't sure where the resentment was coming from, "He- he knelt down next to me. Started talking about my dad. About the commissioner, about how this was for him. I- I- lost consciousness pretty fast. It's still fuzzy."

Tim was the first to speak, "He mentioned your dad? Not Batgirl, at all?"

"No" she snapped, and he took a tiny step backward, "Not at all. Isn't that ironic? After all this time, all the things I've done, it's my dad's job that gets me in the end. Did your dad's job stop you from being Robin?"

Tim looked away, eyes downcast. A silence, and the full realization of what she said hit her square in the gut.

"Barbara, you know it's more than just your dad's job-"

Her lips tightened as she grew increasingly frustrated," No Bruce, you don't understand."

"Babs- "

"Not now Dick." She turned away from him, facing the opposite wall, but could picture his expression. Concerned, maybe even disappointed. "I'm sorry, I just can't."

"…. It's okay," he replied, his tone careful and understanding.

He didn't deserve that. But she felt entitled to her sulky behavior, even for one night. She asked, inwardly cringing at her own demeanor, "I'm sorry, can we continue this another time? I'm getting tired."

A lie. She hadn't slept more than a few stringed together hours since yesterday's nightmare.

"Of course, Miss Gordon. We'll visit again, if that's alright with you," Alfred answered cordially.

Dick trudged over, his pace light yet susceptible to those who were familiar with his acrobatic gait. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze.

She didn't turn around until their footsteps finally receded. _

The ICU nurse left, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She was alone, the only state she desired. The nefarious stinging lights receded to make way for bedtime. But why was sleeping so hard?

Thoughts perverted her mind. What she wouldn't give for a shot of anesthesia. She knew, deep inside that she was not herself. But once again, that was far south.

Straight up shunning Dick? And snapping at Tim, when his father had died only a month before? Up until that moment, Jack Drake's untimely death escaped from her mind. She wanted to cry.

But that was the problem. She couldn't. Tears would not muster themselves.

Barbara was always ready to prove her worth. Barbara Gordon did not run from an interaction. Barbara Gordon didn't run from a fight. If the fight was an internal struggle, she fought with twice the vigor. Barbara didn't let her trauma haunt her forever, the way Bruce did. At least that's what she told herself.

But this was more than pain. Pain went away, pain was always temporary. It was a feeling. She could experience it, bask in the fiery rush of pain, knowing full well that, in the grand scheme of things, pain was the one thing she could forget.

How she romanticized the idea of pain now. She took pain for granted. The ability to feel your own immunity, your blood boil and skin tighten and tear.

What was the opposite of feeling?

Loss.

And she had lost. Lost her legs. What she wouldn't give for the ability to experience a prick on her calf, a jab at her toe.

Losing feeling was much worse than not feeling at all, she decided.

Maybe the Joker shot her everywhere else too. A hole in her head. Because what sane person stopped crying, stopped grieving, stopped the pain from within. Stopped feeling?

A swish interrupted her thoughts, only heard to the well-trained ear as an indicator of Batman's presence.

"What are you doing here?" she called out into the darkness which was now even lonelier than before, "What do you want Batman?"

She was long-winded from interrogating herself. If Bruce asked her a question, she would seriously consider calling the nurse.

"Barbara-"

"No," she cut through once again," You don't know what I've lost-"

"Let me finish-"

"Stop. Save the lecture." she was incredulous, fuming at the thought of receiving a talking to, "Can't you see me? See what he did? What I can't do?"

"Barbara," his voice wasn't the intimidating rumble reserved for criminals. Disconcerting, given that his attempt at concern didn't match the suit he donned," "You don't even know why I've come yet."

" What..?"

"Barbara," he grunted, voice unreadable with the cowl on. But she seriously doubted his voice could be any flatter without the voice modulator either.

"I want you to persevere. Can you do that?" She didn't answer, but pursed her lips, staring at the outline of Batman in the darkness in contempt. She was done, and it was time to shut down again. Dick's disappointed expression flashed through her mind again.

He didn't await a reply," I've seen too many people go down the drain. They failed at adapting, and natural selection did the rest."

Who could he be talking about? Her thoughts immediately jumped to Roy Harper, and how he turned to a heroin addiction after finding out that he was a copy of someone else.

"But I want you to try your hardest. Don't give in."

"I won't deny that it will be difficult for you. But I know who you are and that's the one thing you do, persevere. Too many people easily give up, heroes and ordinary pedestrians alike." He placed a gloved hand at the foot of her bed, "I don't want to see that happen to you."

She didn't even want to comprehend the full extent of what he delivered. Jaded from the constant feeling of blame, she deflected it at Bruce, "You won't kill him, will you?"

She was well aware of his answer, but it didn't matter. It was misdirected anger, but anger nevertheless. She wanted him, no, needed him to feel guilt. After all, didn't he deserve it? Even if he would hide that guilt under a cowl every day, he deserved the same fate. He deserved to feel an inkling of her loss at the very least.

"No, Barbara," the addition of her name sounded like a veiled apology.

Well, he could have his apology, shot back at him from a pocket revolver. Her expression of disgust was apparent, even in the darkness.

With a swish of the cape, he was gone.


End file.
